It Had To Be You
by makesausername
Summary: Loki's successes and failures through the eyes of the wife the world forgot.


**A/N: This is a blend of the MCU and Norse mythology. Beta'd by GallonsoftheStuff. Also posted edited version on Ao3 as Human_Wreckage (me).**

* * *

He was a murderer, and a liar, and a megalomaniac, and egotistical, and, as she had come to understand, filled with a deep, deep self hate that was as much about his family as it was his race. Loki was a complicated being, but it hadn't always been so. He'd been a boy once, with a stupid, arrogant older brother that went out of his way to compete with him. Their relationship was antagonistic, for sure, but brotherly, nonetheless. And she had been a girl who disliked them both, at first. But it changed slowly, sharing time in Asgard's palace library, then practicing magic together wherever they had time and space, and getting teased, both of them, for spending so much time together. They weren't old enough to think more of it than anything else. But she'd never been one to drop a friend once she had made them.

It was as they grew into young adults that she realized that those feelings-the flutter of her pulse, the butterflies in her core, the thoughts of blue eyes and black hair-that she felt were love. She told him, one night, in Odin's gardens, that he was the only one she would, or maybe could, love. It was a nervous declaration, sincere but almost fearful, because it was her heart she was wearing on her sleeve, and she'd either given him a knife or asked him to safeguard it. Imagine her surprise when he kissed her in answer.

He asked for her hand quickly after that, and she was overjoyed to tie herself to him. They had stood at an altar, she in a white and gold gown, marked with his green, he in green with gold, handsome beyond measure, and made vows. They came away, bound like Frigga to Odin, more closely than Thor to his precious four, and she considers that only the night could make her happier.

The stars had been out for hours as their hurried breaths mixed. She had tried to keep her mind from wondering what it would be like, tangled together, touching, kissing, fitted to each other like two halves of one whole. This was better than anything her innocent mind could have conceived. He was gentle with her, but only up to the point she whispered, " _Please_ ," and then her mind was on the sensations of his lips on hers, and the rub of their hips together, and him moving inside her. Later, much much later, they ran lazy, contented fingers along each other's goosebumped flesh, speaking of things like magic and days of keeping the peace of the realm. She kept to herself that she hoped they would start a family right away, and that he wouldn't be going to do anything too dangerous.

Months passed, and she was not yet with child, and he was out often enough that she didn't think they'd had much of a chance to try. He came to her after an episode, angry and bitter, the first time she had seen him that way since the days when Thor could goad him into trouble. She didn't react the way he must have been looking for, as he went from ranting about how his bumbling oxen of a brother deserved the throne as much as an actual ox to quietly, calmly telling her to forget that he had opened his mouth. She didn't see him again for two weeks.

The first time she asked if there was someone else, it was quickly evident that he could lie or he could tell the truth. The latter was picked, though she might have been happier with the lie. It seemed to relieve him, to tell her of his infidelity. He wanted another chance, he maintained. She was, on the other hand, was quietly devastated. How could he? She told him, already, that there was no one else. Why would he hurt her?

A year went by, and while he was still her husband, and she his wife, and though they worked on it, their marriage was not the same. He could tell that her faith in him was shaky, that the trust was gone. But they had their sort of revival when she conceived, birthing twin sons, making them both happy and content, on the surface, for a time.

Years ticked on, and rumors in the realms had his bastards all over the place, children without a humanoid form. She tried to ignore it, and tell herself that even if she did not have her husband's full attention, she had his sons. But all illusions are fragile things when held to the light.

Her suspicions came to a head again when Odin placed a girl in the realm of Mists and gave her free-range to do with it what she would. The girl she could forgive, but the girl's father had finally crossed his wife one too many times. She confronted him out of anger, betrayal biting in her words, accusing that the rumors of bastard children were true, even after the birth of Narfi and Nari.

She wasn't prepared, yet again, for the admission of guilt on his part, but there it was, tumbling out of his mouth, pointed and sharp like he didn't understand why she didn't already know. Crushed, and tired of trying to salvage what was left of their marriage, she demanded to be set free of him, spatially. She would see him once a year, with their sons until they were adults, and remain his wife. He had no right to request she remain his in more than name only, but he still asked it of her. If she could have said no, the mess they were in would have been over long before.

His infidelity would never cease, not unless he were to be tied to a rock, so, she removed herself from the equation. The first few years were the hardest, Asgard being all a twitter with opinions on what one should do or not do in her situation. They slowly fizzled out, the scandal giving way to new and more interesting gossip. It took ten years to forgive him enough to hear an apology, and another fifteen for the pain to give way into a dull ache that felt curiously like hunger. He asked her, that first time in forever, when they lay tangled again, what it was that kept her bound to him. She'd given him the only answer she could: that when she made a vow, or a promise, or a commitment, or gave anything akin to her word to herself or others, she kept it. He, only seeing her once a year, didn't hide his affection for her, and she wished, not for the first time, that he was happy with just her.

Years went on in this way, and both of their sons were cut down before reaching a proper majority. Those were the darkest years between them, seeing each other once a year to heap the blame between them.

A strange thing happened, fourteen years after the death of their last twin: Loki mothered a foal. It had eight legs and was entirely a surprise to those who heard of it, and how it came to be. She couldn't hide her embarrassment, nor could her husband, so he gave the horse to Odin, though he continued to look after it until it was grown.

The years stacked up like pages in the Eddas that the humans so liked to write. Some festered old wounds, and some shone like polished metal in the sun, while some were so bleak that they disappeared altogether. She remained faithful to her husband, and he remained a self-contained enigma, but his attention finally shifted from sexual partners to something else. He kept it close to the chest.

The day that Thor was to ascend the throne, a plot was thrown into motion. She had no idea it would mean the death of the man she had loved for so many years. Every twist in the tale sent her head spinning, but it was at the funeral that she received the biggest shock.

She had thought she would feel free if Loki died, but she was still as bound to him as before.

He emerged again in Midgard, some years later, and made himself a criminal, but fell to his brother and a team of Midgardians. She felt mortified, but... she couldn't denounce him, even as he was sentenced to imprisonment for life. She visited him twice, once right after the trial, and the second on an anniversary of one of the twins' deaths. She said that the year she thought him dead had to be accounted for. It was in her expectations that he would ask for her help in escaping, but he never did.

The Dark Elves' return heralded the beginning of another set of events that resulted in his supposed death. Frigga's loss was unbearable, at least for him. She felt the loss as truly as any other Aesir, but was unprepared for the chase the estranged brothers undertook. When Thor returned alone, she didn't understand. If he had died, wouldn't she have felt it? She kept expecting to feel it. Unless, that promise had been to herself. But she had made her vow to Loki, at their wedding.

She should be free if he was dead, at least of the bond she'd had to him in life.

She hunted for clues on the Dark World, though she may as well have sorted every grain of sand on the planet. She turned her attention to Asgard. Loki wouldn't have returned looking like himself, she thought. He wouldn't give up the anonymity that his "death" had provided him with. But who would he want to be? Only one guise made sense to her. There was only one person he would take the place of, in her mind.

The throne room had been rebuilt, looking just as it had before. She felt brazen, perhaps, because upon seeing the empty throne, she marched up the steps and took a seat.

Odin arrived sometime around dark, and she felt particular pleasure in surprising him. He lit the throne room and stared at her from his one eye.

"I've been thinking," she said, voice rusty as though from both disuse and emotion, "This life is too hard to live without someone else. You and I, my king; we've both lost the ones we thought would go with us from this life to the next." Here, she took the off-chance that it might not work and left the throne, pausing before Odin. "You and I, my king, are bereft, but we could brave the storm... together."

She leaned in close, putting one hand on his shoulder, one on his face, and pressed her lips at the grizzled mawl. She landed on her behind as she tripped, pushed away. He stood over her, looking like Odin, hiding his real face behind the illusion.

He knew that there was no hiding. The fact that she had gotten as close to him as she had, fully intending to follow through, had been enough.

"I'm expected to give an audience. You'll wait until I'm done, and then speak in private."

She stayed out of sight until "Odin" had declared he would see no one else. She stepped from behind the throne right into his strong grip. They marched through parts of the palace where they were the least likely to be seen, but they were headed somewhere she didn't recognize. As he pushed her through the small, hidden, gilded door, she had the wild thought that he had brought her here to kill her. She turned to face him, seeing not his Odin illusion, but her husband, in all his green and gold and black trappings, wearing an expression that was hard to read.

"I would ask how you knew, but I suppose it has something to do with our marriage and your vows."

"I turned over every stone on Svartlfheim, expecting to find some sign of your death, but when there was none, I concluded you were still alive and assumed that you would be in Asgard, with the only identity you could want: the King's."

"I forget how deductive your powers of reason are," he said, advancing on her. She stood her ground, not wanting to betray her wariness of her husband, especially if he was only closing in to end her. She wouldn't face that death as a coward.

He reached out, touching a tendril of her hair-which did not help her concentration-and said, "Should I be worried that you'll run off to tattle to Thor?" She knew the touch of his fingertips to her person were less to do with desire and more to do with tripping up any acts she was putting on. She could see it in his hooded eyes-no hunger for her ever held the malicious glint that sparkled like madness in the blue depths.

"What's Thor got to do with this?" came out more breathy than she preferred. It had been too long, and the last time she had seen him, touching-or anything like it otherwise-was impossible. Muddled as she was, she pressed on. "I wish you didn't have to ask, Loki... But that would solve more than just this hiccup for you.

"I'll breathe not one word to anyone about your deception."

He relaxed, almost visibly, at her promise, trailing his fingers from shoulder to her hand, slipping his in with hers. She nearly stopped breathing, the touch not frightening, but stirring. His lips brushed against hers, and she suppressed a shiver of pleasure and excitement.

It had been documented somewhere that Sigyn was the Goddess of Fidelity. She was said to inspire loyalty, faithfulness, and just obedience. But she was never just an inspiration. She was bound to keep her promises for more than a sense of duty.

She was bound by her word, and however much pain they had caused over the years, bound by her feelings. The boy whom she had first met in the library, the man whom she had loved and who had broken her heart-they were the same, and he was asking her to keep his secrets. She was submerged, once more, into the heady and cold heat of her husband's embrace, and there were no questions left between them. Just shared air and quickly leaving fabric.

 _"'Cause nobody else gave me a thrill_

 _With all your faults, I love you still now_

 _And it had to be you, it just had to be you_

 _It had to be you…"_

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you for reading!**


End file.
